


Retribution

by azziria



Series: Fair trade [6]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: AU, Dubious Consent, M/M, Prostitution, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-06
Updated: 2011-07-06
Packaged: 2017-10-21 02:47:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azziria/pseuds/azziria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve needs to go to ground. <i>Fair trade</i> 'verse.</p><p>Warning - this is fairly dark and brutal - please pass on by if likely to be upset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> More dark hooker!fic from the _Fair trade_ series, Steve's POV. Danny is a hard bastard and Steve is very damaged.

  


The john’s a tourist, from some hick town out West where he can’t get this because everyone knows him, and he’s a mean one, or likes to think he is. He’s got his fist clenched brutally tight in Steve’s hair, his jeans and that belt with the fancy cowboy buckle are down around his knees, and his belly’s wobbling as he fucks into Steve’s mouth. He’s wearing a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt that his wife probably bought him, he smells of sweat and stale beer, and he thinks he’s such a big man because he’s got a hooker on his knees for him. Steve hates him.

Hates him, and hates this, but he needs the money, so he has no choice. The cop will be looking for him, he’s certain of that, so he needs to go to ground for a few days, keep his head down while he comes up with a plan, and to do that he needs supplies. Needs supplies, and the few dollars he has left aren’t enough, and the cop didn’t pay him this time, so all he can do is turn a trick or two and make sure that the cop doesn’t catch up with him while he’s still out on the streets.

He should never have trusted the cop, he knows that. He’d let his guard down, let himself start to feel safe, and that was the big mistake, that’s when they get you, when you stop paying attention. Because it turns out the cop’s one of them, after all, and Steve should have known that, should have read the signs, because why the fuck else would he be taking an interest in a cheap whore? Giving him money, buying him food, it all makes sense now, and Steve curses himself for not seeing it sooner. He must be getting soft, losing his edge, and he can’t allow that to happen or they _will_ get him, one way or the other. They’ll take him in, and they’ll finish what they started, and then they’ll send him back out there, fucked over and reprogrammed, and it'll all begin again.

Even this is better than that.

The tourist shoves his dick in deeper, and Steve has to struggle not to gag on it. At least the guy’s wearing a condom (he doesn’t want to catch anything from some dirty little whore, after all, he made that very clear), and although the taste of latex and lube is nothing to write home about, it’s better than having to swallow this asshole’s jizz when he comes.

Steve takes what he can get, these days.

He must have zoned out, because the tourist shakes him roughly by the hair and snaps ”Get on with it. I’m paying you to suck me, not for me to do all the work!” and Steve blanks his mind, tries not to think of anything at all as he takes the guy deeper, increases the suction and curls his tongue around the guy’s cock, focuses on doing what he’s being paid to do, on getting him off and getting this over as quickly as possible.

This shit may be all he’s good for, all he deserves, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Eventually the john gets there, stuffing himself deep down Steve’s throat and grunting as he comes, and now Steve can’t help it, he does gag, and his jaw aches because the mean son-of-a-bitch had obviously had a couple of beers before he came looking for his fun, and that meant extra work to get him off. The john pulls his dick out of Steve’s mouth, releasing his hold on Steve’s hair with a harsh shove and ridding himself of the condom with a look of distaste, then looks down at where Steve’s kneeling at his feet. He’s got a nasty, nasty grin on his face as he pulls up his jeans and buckles his belt, and Steve feels the hatred start to simmer hot in his gut, banks it down because this is what he does, he’s a whore, he has to take it, he needs the money more than he needs his pride.

The tourist sneers, and oh, he thinks he’s such a big, big man, “You think I’m gonna pay you for that, when I did all the work? Stupid fucking whore, no fucking way!” And with that he’s turning on his heel, heading off up the alley, and he’s so, so pleased with himself… Steve feels the heat in his gut boil up , flooding through him, and then that’s it, the tourist’s face down on the alley floor with one arm twisted up behind him and Steve’s knee in the middle of his back, and he’s not such a big man now…

”You got off, you pay for it, fair trade,” Steve growls in his ear, and the tourist’s shaking with fear under him, and fuck that feels good, that feels powerful. Steve uses his free hand to rifle through the tourist’s pockets, finding his wallet and pulling out the wad of bills, ignoring the photo of the smiling woman and three tow-headed kids that falls out as he does so. He takes what he’s owed, and some more for his trouble, and throws the wallet down into the dirt after the photo. “Don’t let me see you around here again,” he says, and gets to his feet, watching as the tourist stumbles up, scrabbling for his wallet and making a run for it as a fast as his feet will carry him, gibbering and clearly terrified.

Steve unclenches his fists, feels the white heat of the anger ebbing away, and shit, now he’s the one who’s shaking, who’s breaking out in a cold sweat, because what the fuck has he just done? He _lost it_ , he lost control, and he can’t allow that, because things happen when he loses control, bad things… he can’t remember them all, but he _knows_. He can feel the tension still simmering inside him, it’s not gone, it’s gathering in his head and buzzing under his skin, and he needs to get to a place of safety, to a secure location, to hole up and ride this out where he can’t hurt anybody, where nobody can hear him when the dreams come. Where nobody can hear him when _they_ come for him.

He looks down at the money in his hand, and it’s enough, enough to buy food to keep him going for a few days, enough that he won’t have to turn another trick before he can go to ground. More importantly it’s enough to buy what he _really_ needs. Enough to buy something that might kill the dreams. Enough to buy something that might allow him to forget for a while.

He shoves the bills into his pocket, noticing the tourist’s photo lying abandoned on the ground as he does so, the woman and children smiling up at him. Family, he thinks, and for a moment something catches at the edge of his memory, something warm and sweet, but it’s a fleeting thing and it’s gone before he can grasp it. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he grinds the photo under his heel and heads on out of the alley.


End file.
